As my beloved Aunt Anne readied herself for Heaven, she said to me (as if a blessing), “I have always loved the clouds, and I want you to know that when you see clouds in the sky… I am with you.” The clouds are moving in today. Word has it they will first bring rain and then snow. They’ve blocked the sun and erased the pretty morning blue that cupped my mountains.
We all know the sun is still there. It pushes light towards us if even through the thick clouds. It is steadfast and will always follow the skirt hems of night. We can be disappointed that we don’t have nearly enough carefree, blue sky days, but we should never fail to give thanks that light comes every day… to nuzzle us towards growth and joy and life.
I’ve been thinking about those in the world who seem to have mostly blue skies and those who seem perpetually stuck under a cloud. Why is that so? Whether by choice or hard work or heredity or good luck, why do some people have relative ease in this life? And why do some, no matter their effort or will, have such struggle? I am sorry, my loves. I am sorry that your burdens seem ongoing and scarce of warmth and light. I am sorry when the smallest shifts take so much time of ongoing effort and that it is just easier to name what’s broken than what’s been repaired. I know you cannot bear to hear one more person say, “Sunny days are ahead,” when the clouds have been so thick for years. Grey is what is most familiar and understood.
So, in the hum of whatever is your ordinary, in the midst of your wide awake joy or the soreness in the muscles that carry your wound, may there be enough light that we find each other. May the sorrowful one lend understanding, and the joyful one lend tangible presence. The Good Samaritan offered prayers and food and healing. We need each other for so many reasons, just as he offered the bread and roses that sustained.
We cannot blow the clouds away, but we can link arms and seek what light remains. Let in the person who knocks with kindness, and tomorrow knock on the next door with your own. May the clouds remind us, as my Anne said, to show up for each other in ways that say, “You are not alone. I am here with you. Let’s take a walk and see what the sky might have to say.”
We all know the sun is still there. It pushes light towards us if even through the thick clouds. It is steadfast and will always follow the skirt hems of night. We can be disappointed that we don’t have nearly enough carefree, blue sky days, but we should never fail to give thanks that light comes every day… to nuzzle us towards growth and joy and life.
I’ve been thinking about those in the world who seem to have mostly blue skies and those who seem perpetually stuck under a cloud. Why is that so? Whether by choice or hard work or heredity or good luck, why do some people have relative ease in this life? And why do some, no matter their effort or will, have such struggle? I am sorry, my loves. I am sorry that your burdens seem ongoing and scarce of warmth and light. I am sorry when the smallest shifts take so much time of ongoing effort and that it is just easier to name what’s broken than what’s been repaired. I know you cannot bear to hear one more person say, “Sunny days are ahead,” when the clouds have been so thick for years. Grey is what is most familiar and understood.
So, in the hum of whatever is your ordinary, in the midst of your wide awake joy or the soreness in the muscles that carry your wound, may there be enough light that we find each other. May the sorrowful one lend understanding, and the joyful one lend tangible presence. The Good Samaritan offered prayers and food and healing. We need each other for so many reasons, just as he offered the bread and roses that sustained.
We cannot blow the clouds away, but we can link arms and seek what light remains. Let in the person who knocks with kindness, and tomorrow knock on the next door with your own. May the clouds remind us, as my Anne said, to show up for each other in ways that say, “You are not alone. I am here with you. Let’s take a walk and see what the sky might have to say.”
RSS Feed
